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For those unspeakable crimes — matricide and attempted patricide — Jennifer Pan will spend a lifetime in prison, with no parole eligibility for 25 years.

All this horror — a mother shot in the head, her final words a plea that her daughter be spared; a father shot through the eye who miraculously survived his grievous wounds — for the obsessive love of a man who did not love her back.

After years of lying and hiding, maintaining an alternate reality as a secretive couple, Daniel Wong had grown sick of the charade. He’d moved on, had a new girlfriend. Yet still deep enough into Pan’s deranged world that he went along, planning and deliberating, arranging and participating, in the phoney home invasion plot that ended with Bich Ha Pan slain in the basement and Hann Pan staggering outside with a bullet in his cranium, moaning for help.

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“I feel the way you feel, but about her,” Wong told Jennifer Pan by text a few days before the shooting, referring to the woman who’d replaced her in his affections. “Im sorry. i was always walking on eggshells with you.”

She replied: “So you feel for her what I feel for you, then call it off with Homeboy.”

Homeboy was Lenford Crawford, the middleman contacted by Wong to set up the home invasion tableau, get the crew together, the ringleader’s conversations with Jennifer Pan conducted on her “secret murder phone.”

And Wong, when there was still time to call the whole thing off, reminding his ex that she’d sought this crime for herself, that it was never about ensuring their future as a couple: “You said you wanted this with or without me.”

Even then, what was Jennifer Pan envisioning? That maybe murder wound bind them together forever, be their troth of romantic reconciliation?

What they have together, what they’re now sharing, is conviction on first-degree murder and attempted murder, a quarter-century behind bars.

In their wake lies ruin.

Bich Ha Pan, dead on the spot, would never know of her daughter’s lethal betrayal, if that can be considered a small mercy. Hann Pan, who testified against his daughter in court, will have to live with that knowledge forever. After emerging from a coma, it was his hospital bed account to police of that violent night at the family’s Markham home that turned the tide of the investigation, transforming his daughter from a deeply pitied survivor — how tearfully she’d mourned at her mother’s funeral, ravaged face captured by media cameras — to unimaginably wicked murderer.

Perhaps it was shame she was feeling. But that might be a quality beyond the young woman’s emotional range.

Her entire life had become a fabrication prior to that fateful night, Nov. 8, 2010. It was a deceit Jennifer Pan continued in her police interrogation, when she suddenly switched from her posture of utter non-involvement in the assassination plot to a cockamamie narrative wherein she had been the intended target, so depressed and sick of living that she’d hired a hit-man to kill her, not her parents. Then changed her mind and tried to scotch the home invasion scheme, paying an $8,500 kill-fee — cancellation fee — money she didn’t actually have, money the hired guns had come looking for that evening.

The jurors didn’t buy it, returning with their verdicts on Saturday after three-and-a-half days of deliberation. Guilty all around, with automatic life sentences: Pan and Wong and Crawford and David Mylvaganam. A fifth accused, Eric Carty, had his case severed midtrial after his defence lawyer became too ill to continue; Carty will face the same charges at a later date. His absence from the Newmarket courtroom, however, rendered Carty — already serving a life sentence for a 2009 homicide — a convenient blame-him patsy for the remaining defence lawyers.

It’s disturbing how easily, apparently, it was to bring all the elements together for this heinous crime, a few calls, a few summons for the killing recruits detail. Jennifer Pan, while a consummate liar, was no practiced criminal mind. Yet she had once previously paid an individual — a friend’s roommate — to knock off her father outside his workplace. That came to naught when the guy took her money and disappeared.

But the whole dreadful concept of murder times two sprang from her fertile brain. Perhaps that wasn’t a stretch, actually. Pan had spent seven years inhabiting a figment of her own imagination. She’d spun for her parents a wildly complicated tangle of deceptions, convincing them she was attending university and graduated — even presenting them with a bogus pharmacy degree — and living for a time with a school friend when in fact she was cohabiting, at least by day, with Wong in his parents’ house. Only when Hann Pan became suspicious of his daughter’s claim to be working as a volunteer at the Hospital for Sick Children did the untruths start to unravel.

The Pan parents, especially dad, were virulently opposed to drug-dealing Wong as a boyfriend for their only daughter, which triggered the skein of lies that became progressively more embellished. As refugees from Vietnam, they wanted something better for their daughter and son — higher education, degrees, solid careers. Jennifer wanted only Daniel and he’d been forbidden to her.

When the myriad falsehoods were discovered, Hann Pan gave his older child an ultimatum: “I told my daughter, you have two options. The first, stay home and go to school. The second, go with Daniel Wong and never come back.”

If she chose Wong over school, “you have to wait until I’m dead.”

But that would take too long. Jennifer Pan wouldn’t wait.

She was 24 years old in 2010. By that age, many young people are already out of the house. It was an option she did not seriously consider, though Wong had pressed her repeatedly to leave a household where Pan felt so unfairly restricted. “I could have moved out but I didn’t want to abandon my family,” she said on the witness stand. “I didn’t want them to abandon me.”

Yet cold-blooded murder is preferable to estrangement?

There was the $1-million inheritance in insurance and assets, of course. Pan clearly coveted that money, which would have been split with her brother. Maybe lucre would lure back Wong.

A premeditated killing made to look like a home invasion robbery: Just the thing. Leave the front door unlocked, have herself bound, play her part. Playing games was so much a part of her nature, after all.

Except Hann Pan had seen his daughter speaking quietly to one of the assailants outside her bedroom door that night. He remembered something else: Jennifer wasn’t tied up.

Hundreds of pages of cellphone records, including phone calls, text messages and location data, helped the prosecution make their successful case to the jury.

Right of appeal is automatic with first-degree murder convictions. A trial that took 10 months to hear will likely not be the end of it.

When the jury foreman stood to deliver their verdict, widower Hann Pan was not in the courtroom. His daughter, I suspect, has been dead to him for four years.

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